Somehow I am always busy yet never seem to feel that I've made any progress. This progression I manage to elude on a daily basis is fuzzy and I'm not sure I would recognize it if it called me by name. The allure of doing anything where sitting still is not an option is always my best option. I find it difficult to be quiet or still in my free time and have always been consumed with a miscellany of thoughts. This perpetual quest to achieve balance (being the Libra that I am) is in all things that I do. That is of course once I have weighed the possible outcomes and decide that I should, in fact, do. And then there was Boston, and now New York...and these things, too: a night in the kitchen with an inspiring cookbook or a whim, my desire for music to leave me breathless, and my mission to find the perfect whatever it is I'm looking for. Clark Howard once said "a bargain isn't a bargain unless you need it and can afford it." I'd like to introduce him to my closet. Maybe he could help me find a few things I haven't been able to locate in a while. Until that offer runs out...I'll keep looking. I will walk in heels for great lengths to pull off the rest of my gear. I have several permanent scars from fashion and I will sport them with pride everyday. A badge of endurance, if you will, so march on.
Who I'd like to meet:
My father's parents. Ron Sexsmith, again. Wayne Thiebaud. Karim Rashid. Ryan Adams. David Rakoff. David Letterman. David Bowie. Jeremy Piven. Ibrahim Ferrer. Stacy and Clinton. Mark Rothko. Mark Wahlberg. Willie Nelson. Albert Pujols. B.B. King. Any President of any country. Someone else that hates the smell of popcorn. Coach K. Wayne Newton or Neil Diamond, either will do. Dan Abrams. Peyton Manning. The man that invented the dishwasher so I may express my sincere gratitude. Anyone who has ever been employed by Wiener Circle. Larry David. The pilot of my plane. Terrence Howard Philip. Panther's inspiration. Jim Cantore, minus the hurricane. Guys that break rocks with other rocks...or wear tank tops/sleeveless t-shirts/spray paint trucker hats on broadway. Matthew Goode. Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Capote. Wonder Boys. Lost In Translation. Jesus' Son. American Splendor. Little Miss Sunshine. Amelie. Karakter. Thumbsucker. The Weatherman. The Best Years of Our Lives. Ocean's Eleven (yes). Everything is Illuminated. Broken Flowers. Sideways. Flight o, just not alone
Entourage. What Not to Wear. House Hunters. Wherever I am local news. The Office. 30 Rock. LOST. Dog the Bounty Hunter. Thank you, Project Runway, Top Design (T.O. is so orange!), Top Chef...and now, *Flight of the Conchords*.
The Sunday Paper. Waiting for a table on Friday night. Prom shoes with jeans. Virgin Mary Statues. Museums. Baseball. Skirts. Duke Basketball. Watching any sport and asking a million questions. Browsing. Can I see the menu? Mints. Window shopping. People, please. Street corner whistling contests. Paint. Frisbee. Showers. Soup. The evening news. Road trips. Minibars. Hotels. Balsamic vinegar. Purses. Linens. Heels. Strength. Time. Cooking classes. Beans (green, white, black, butter, nothern, kidney). Time. Cooking classes. Coats. Jackets. Scarves. Mittens. Shuffleboard (Tabletop or Retirement Community Style). Vegetables. The future. My camera. Parking tickets. The Farmers Market. Flea markets. D.C. Baking. Certainty. Yoga. Doing laundry. Op
Andy Davis says:
Amanda, thanks for the support
posted Dec 13